Michelle and the Cabaret
by Eternal Contradiction
Summary: Derrick, a friend of mine, is never so fabulous as when he's on stage as Michelle. Except possibly when he's backstage seducing one of the members of the audience. Voyeurism? Totally my thing. Ficlet. M/K


**Michelle at the Cabaret**

_Rated for some slash. Avoid if this is not your thing. Also avoid if you don't want to read something that is ultimately Kerry/Michel. I realize how difficult it is to take off the slash goggles sometimes, and they leave such harsh lines around your eyes..._

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"And it was, like, this epic moment when I said 'boy, your shoes are so fabulous I want you to keep them on so I can look at them while you fuck me,' and you know what he did? He very lightly trailed his foot up my leg and pressed it into my cockal region. I was like gnnnnh, I love a man with a good appreciation of foot fetishes."

"He didn't!" I exclaimed, loving a good scandal.

"He did!" Derrick crowed.

"I don't believe it, did you, you know...?" I asked, trailing off. My companion knows how squeamish I am about vocalizing these things. I thought he might shake his head at me, proclaiming me the prudish gay man he knows, but instead he just smirked.

"Jizz in my pants? No, believe me, it takes something a lot nicer than hand-made Italian loafers to make me lose control. They have to be leopard print or something."

"Leopard print!" I exclaimed, making a face. "That's..."

"Joke!" he sang-songed, waggling his fingers at me. He turned for a second to look in the mirror, pulling on a long blond wig. His fingernails were already covered in acrylic and fake diamonds. "If my hair wasn't so sexy and important to my look, sometimes I wish I could just shave it off so these wigs would go on easier. Other times I just want to quit this job, but really? What else is there for a gurl to do in Vegas but sing and dance and show off her legs in a cabaret?"

I knew this question was rhetorical. He went through the same rant almost every night as he transformed himself from a male into a female. I knew some of the dancers actually were living through the transformation for real and didn't just play drag, but I was like him, in it for the money and a little bit of the glory. An all male, female dance troupe might not exactly be unheard of in a city like Vegas, but we still turned head.

"Et voila!"

"Very beautiful," I murmured around my lipstick. He was too, all delicate features and youthful beauty that made me feel protective and more than a little horny at times. I once asked him if he was even old enough to be on stage and he had merely winked, proclaiming that he was according to his ID.

"MICHELLE! Quit yer yammering and get out there."

He gave the boss the one-finger salute. "It's Britney, bitch," he said cattily, blowing himself a kiss in the mirror as he turned on his heel and sashayed through the stage curtain, allowing it to snap behind him.

The crowd loved him. He practically drew people and patronage into the club.

I loved him a little bit too.

x.x.x.x.

The show ended, and I scurried away before the final bow. Michelle usually did one last strut, a final walk through the crowd as people clapped for her. During this time, I always hid myself away in the unmanned security booth behind the stage – cost cuts had taken away the budget for that type of security – and flipped on the monitors for the back dressing room.

I knew that almost every night after a show, Michelle's costume would come off and Derrick would seduce some guy against his dressing table.

All I had to do was wait, and it didn't take long before Michelle entered the screen, dragging some man behind her.

"Get yourself comfortable while I take off this costume," she said flirtatiously.

This part I always enjoyed. I called it the transformation. Michelle quickly changed from female to male, and oh boy was Derrick ever a sight to behold.

Derrick didn't say a word, just observed the man in front of him. He had shed the flamboyant persona at the same time he took off the wig, and there was no doubt in my mind who was in charge, just as I was sure the guy standing in front of Derrick suddenly understood the role reversal too.

"Turn around," Derrick commanded.

When the man didn't immediately comply, Derrick just stared at him until he squirmed, and turned to face the pillar in the middle of the room, if only to get away from that intense stare.

"Good," Derrick said. "Now take off your pants." He walked up behind his fuck of the evening, casually pressing one hand against his shoulder and using the other to circle the man's hips and grab his cock.

x.x.x.x

When I was on stage as a background dancer for Michelle, I was always interested to see how she picked the men Derrick was going to fuck. She would look at someone, he would look back at her, and there would be this silent wave of heat sent between the two of them, electric and intense.

Sometimes when Derrick got the man into the back, he would bulk as if not realizing this was an all-drag cabernet. I'd seen them politely decline and walk away. I'd also seen them ask if he could keep the costume on. Very rarely did it get violent.

Today, Michelle was in a rare mood, where her fake bitchy mannerisms were harsh and snippy. She didn't say mean things in a cheerful voice and a wink like usual, and we all knew to stay away from her in these moods.

I hadn't expect her to pick a guy from the crowd, and I was surprised by her choice.

Instead of her usual act of getting the man relaxed, a habit that changed person to person, but rarely failed, Michelle simply pushed the man backwards against the wall and took off her dress, wig coming off at the same time. The man looked startled at Derrick's flat, masculine chest, and then furious and disgusted.

I had seen that look before and my stomach clenched in anxiety.

"Get away from me faggot!" the man sneered, but below that was a sickening fear and a dangerous fury that could get violent quickly. And Derrick was a slight thing compared to this guy.

"What?" Derrick asked, a small smile across his face. "But a moment ago you were all over me. Turn around and I'll show you what you're missing with your narrow-minded, homophobic views."

"You're an aberration. God does not—"

The man didn't finish his sentence before Derrick struck. One punch and the man flew backwards, his head smacking solidly against the wall. He slid down bonelessly, landing in a slump on the floor. Derrick gave him a cold smile, grabbing him by the hair and leaning down over his neck.

My heart was beating wildly as I turned the monitor off, my stomach queasy.

x.x.x

This time when the electricity happened, it was in a manner I hadn't ever expected from him. The man in question was talking to a girl, and she was giggling at something he had said. Our announcer presented Michelle, and both the seated couple looked up. Michelle had stopped in her tracks, staring down at the table. His features were still, no expression on his face, but he missed his cue to start singing. It was a first.

It took me a moment to realize it was the girl who was staring back up at my friend, recognition and shock apparent on her face. "I… I… Michel? I… what?" But he had already moved on, motivated into action by the song he was performing.

I didn't think much of it, assuming it was someone Derrick knew from before Vegas. We all had pasts, and some of us were running away from them quicker than others. I didn't expect it to be her he brought back with him when the act was over.

He didn't say anything, wasn't touching her, and I would have assumed she had just followed him in if Derrick wasn't the one behind, steering her direction.

They were silent for so long it made my curiosity rise to apprehension. She was staring at him, unwaveringly. I knew the look.

"You need to leave here," he told her flatly, the snippy voice he usually employed gone. He was taking off his wig, but instead of gently and lovingly placing it on the mannequin's head, he simply tossed it on his dressing table. "I'm very careful not to be recognised here, and I'd like to keep it that way."

The girl snorted, her arms were crossed across her chest and none of the stuttering or uncertainty was evident in her tone anymore. "You're in the spotlight in a notoriously famous show, even to Vegas standards. I came here to gawk, so I probably won't be the only one."

He shrugged, back still to her, but I had the feeling he could see her reflection through the mirror. I wondered what it was he was running from, back when the two of them knew each other. "You're here with a bachelorette party."

"Michel!" she hissed, and I thought it strange that she would use his stage name when the rest of us knew to call him Derrick. "What do you propose I do? Just pack up the night before my friend's wedding and leave the city, just like that?"

He was rubbing his face with a wetnap now, scrubbing off makeup in impatient swipes that made my face feel like it was wrinkling just from watching him. This was so unlike him, I knew he was disturbed by her visit. He kept her eye for a minute and then turned away, yanking his pants on under the dress in an efficient motion.

"Don't leave the city, just go back to your tourist trap hotel with the safe, white anglo-saxon protestant middle class entertainment, and exotic, but not too exotic hookers trolling the sidewalk and elevators, and FORGET ABOUT ME."

She didn't just like I did at the sound of him yelling. She smiled slightly, and I was sickened to spot that it was almost flirtatious as she said "but that's impossible."

He shot her a cold look. "I'm serious, Kerry."

She turned away from him, and for a moment I thought she was going to give in and leave, but then she paused. "If you didn't want someone to find you, you should have gone by a different name. Now I'm not delusional to think that I'm the only one who knows "Michelle" but I'm also pretty sure you didn't go around giving that name to everyone."

"Point?"

"Yeah. But I have to contradict myself to say it, so I'm thinking about just leaving it at that." She looked over her shoulder at him, grinning. I was surprised and a little horrified to find a ghost of a smile brush across his lips. "Ok. So tell me straight... did you call yourself "Michelle" because you secretly hoped I would find you?"

Derrick very slowly dropped the dress he had just pulled over his head. It fell to the floor with a dull scratching sound of sequins against hard wood. He was shirtless and god-like, his pale skin glowing in the lamplight. I licked my lips, and found myself leaning forward to hear his answer.

He just stared at her, and one moment turned into two.

"Yes," he responded finally.

She inhaled sharply, clearly surprised. "I... I..." she stumbled over her sentence. "I don't know what to say."

"It's not necessary for you to say anything. I'm not exactly in the position to have you in my life right now. Or any girl, for that matter." He said this with a grin, but it was one I knew to be self-depreciating.

"You could leave here," she suggested, taking a step towards him. "You've done it before."

"Think about what you're asking," he told her, resting his hand on her shoulder for a moment before sliding it up to the bend of her neck. "Are you willing to leave your life behind and come with me? Otherwise, there'd be no point."

She clearly didn't know what to say again, but this time she wisely remained silent instead of stuttering over her words like a fool. I felt vaguely ill to my stomach. Derrick was the gayest man I knew, so this had to be a mistake of some kind. Rehearsal for a play, maybe?

"No, I can't! I have the wedding tomorrow, and..."

"After the wedding, of course," he said graciously.

She gaped at him a bit more, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Where would we go? What would we do for money?"

He stopped her questions short, kissing her softly for a moment before pulling away. "I won't leave my life for you if you wouldn't be willing to do the same for me. Goodbye, Kerry."

She watched him walk away for a moment, tears gathering in her eyes. "Then yes," she said so softly I had to strain against the audio to hear. He didn't seem to have any problems, for he paused in his tracks and turned to look at her. This time he was the one who looked slightly surprised, as though he had never expected her to agree. "Yes. Oh God, how did you take me walking away from you the first time? Yes."

She walked towards him. He remained stock-still, as though he didn't believe what was happening was real. It suddenly hit me that this was possibly the most romantic scene I would ever witness, even if it was so unexpected. It made me kind of resentful towards him for stringing me along for so long if he was just going to give it all up for some girl in the end. It was a monumental betrayal to the man I thought he was, and men like him all over the world.

"Tomorrow after the wedding, I'll grab my bags, you pack yours and we'll just leave. Go off somewhere." She was now standing in front of him again and suddenly looked vulnerable. "That is... if you still want to."

He grabbed her in a motion that was so quick I couldn't even follow it. I had never seen him move at such speeds – he always seemed to luxuriate over movements, taking his time to sensually draw out each lingering glance he received. This was almost violent. And just like that, she was in his arms, feet almost dangling off the floor as he kissed her, pushing her backwards against the support beam.

He didn't pin her hands, but she did raise them above her head anyway, grabbing the edges of the column and pulling her body upwards towards his. He had her trapped, but she didn't seem to mind.

Suddenly, he pulled his body away from her, stumbling backwards a few steps. "This is... ridiculous," he said, dragging his hand through his hair. He must have seen something on her face, because he reached out a hand, not touching her. "No, no, I didn't mean this, I meant the idea of the two of us, here in this room where I've fucked quite a few people. It doesn't seem like a very promising or fitting start for us."

She smiled at him, and it was so light-hearted and happy that it transformed her face from something ordinary to something pretty, even by my standards.

Derrick responded as if he didn't want to keep his resolution, cupping her cheek in his hand as he leaned in and nibbled on the side of her neck.

"I have a hotel room," she told him breathlessly.

I was glad when they left because I don't think I could have stopped watching, and even a voyeur wants to keep some standards. It wasn't so much that I didn't want to watch hetero sex, because I didn't, but whatever it was between them, it was private and it deserved respect.

Even if they were breeders.


End file.
